


Your Body of God

by Asallia



Category: Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Body Worship, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Married Sex, Parenthood, Post-Canon, also HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIA!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asallia/pseuds/Asallia
Summary: Dia worships Mari in her own ways, in the small hours of the morning when the kids are at school and their love can reveal its true colors. Even after all these years of marriage, it always feels like the first time.
Relationships: Kurosawa Dia/Ohara Mari
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Your Body of God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiAyase](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=DiAyase).



> I wrote this a few months back for a friend who is extremely dear to me, but in light of it being Dia's birthday I thought it was time to finally post it here as well. It's the least I can do for a shared fav, after all. Thanks for being a part of my life, Ana.
> 
> Also - this was heavily inspired by (and stole more than a few lines from) the song [Dry Spells by Pianos Become the Teeth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aHn8yJcc1M). If you want a soundtrack, I'd highly recommend giving it a listen.

Their love is a waltz set to the slowest tempo. It's elegant, methodical. It's a ballroom floor where every step has its place and time, every touch a purpose. It's hard for many to fathom, but the bickering and the tempers and the all-or-nothing attitudes they share are just the surface of the ocean beneath.

Their love is the negative space, the nothings that pass between them. It's in the way Dia folds Mari's dress, breath bated and heart beating.

Their love is every brilliant ray of light as she pulls down the blinds, bar by bar and line by line. It's the way every thin strand shines on Mari's body, bending and refracting around every curve as if out of reverence.

Their love is the crook of a finger clad with a wedding band of glimmering gold, a request, a promise. It's in the way Dia approaches and drinks in her wife, blonde waves untamed and splayed across the bedsheets.

"Come here, my love."

Their love is these quiet mornings, when the kids are at school and their businesses can wait. It's in the most sacred of hours, when the gentle patter can coalesce into a waterfall, a bitten-back moan into a howl of depravity.

Dia creeps closer, climbing onto the bed entirely naked and bared for her wife. She bites the bottom of her lip clandestinely, feels herself tense as Mari’s hand finds purchase on her shoulder to pull her into an embrace. Their lips meet tentatively at first, little touches and grazes of flesh as though Dia were waiting for some unspoken permission, but then Mari crashes into her in a fit of passion. They drink one another in, tongues intertwined and nothings murmured against each other’s lips. Their hands explore each other’s bodies like it were their first time. Mari’s nails crawl down Dia’s back, drawing out a groan, an arch of the back that furthers her into her wife’s embrace.

Dia draws away from Mari after some time, but only for the briefest moment, to gaze upon her in all her ethereal beauty before diving back in, painting a trail of kisses from the corner of Mari’s lips to the shell of her ear, all the way down to the crook of her neck. She nibbles at the porcelain skin there in a manner uncharacteristically playful of her, but only enough to draw out a whine from Mari, who pushes her farther down. A laugh under Dia’s breath signals her appeasement, and she snakes lower, painting kisses all over Mari’s breasts. She sucks at a nipple, earning a cry from Mari and a stray bead of breastmilk, evidence of her motherhood that tastes saccharine and syrupy on Dia’s tongue.

Here, where none can see, Dia finally paints her adoration onto Mari’s skin, desecrating and hallowing it all at once. She circles the nipple, leaving love bites that increase in intensity until at last she clings to Mari’s skin, suckling as it turns a speckled, pale red. Not satisfied with her work, she does the same on Mari’s other breast, skin bruising even darker. Mari cries out at the sensation, cradling Dia’s head in her arms in a silent plea for more. 

Dia draws upward to admire her work only when Mari allows her to, and when their gazes meet she knows that she has more work to do. For all her love and devotion, worn on her sleeve so plainly for anyone to see, she can never find enough words to express it. Here, in the palid glow of the morning, there’s no need. Mari stares up at her, desperate and pleading, and Dia nods. She dips back down below, creating a path to Mari’s hips, circling around to the inside of a thigh, all the while teasing and stoking the fires of Mari’s arousal before finally closing in on her core.

Dia ushers Mari’s legs apart with a hand, and Mari quickly accedes, allowing Dia access to place a tender kiss to her labia before snaking her tongue out, teasing at Mari’s folds until she’s wound taut. Mari pleads and begs, grabbing at Dia’s pitch hair in a request that Dia has no pretenses about granting. At long last she drinks Mari in, lapping up all the evidence of Mari’s arousal, acidic and sharp against her tongue. She dips inside, tasting Mari’s walls and earning spasms as she grips at Mari’s thighs to ground herself, only to pull back out and lick some more. Finally, when Mari’s clit makes itself known, hard to the touch, Dia teases at it in heavy fits, sudden flicks of the tongue that make Mari cry out.

Dia conducts her wife like a symphony, every hoarse cry and moan unfettered and unrestrained as they intermingle in the stale air of the bedroom, coalescing and mixing into a melody that graces Dia’s ears like the most beautiful music she’s ever heard. And as Mari finally crests a peak, screaming out Dia’s name as she floods down hard onto Dia’s mouth, Dia takes it all. It feels like the heavens themselves pouring down, bearing on her with all their might as she drinks them in with reverence.

Mari dies down slowly, like a candle flickering as its flame sways aimlessly with the breeze. Her grip on Dia’s hair loosens, her muscles untense. She lets out a single, long sigh, then beckons Dia back up to meet her gaze. Her movements come slowly, but not from lack of passion - no matter how far down that flame dies, how much the wind howls, it remains insatiable and inextinguishable. She presses her forehead against Dia’s, lingering there in reverence of the moment as they share sweet nothings between them in quiet whispers, a dry spell after the flood that lasts for the briefest of moments.

A murmur at last coaxes Dia from her rest, pulling her upward as Mari splays her body like a feast, offering it all. Dia feels herself throb, painfully stiff as she soaks in Mari’s radiance, looking so aliveas the morning light drapes itself across her body. The morning has passed away unwittingly, lines of sunlight stretching and moving across the room as the sun rises outside, finding its perch far above in the sky. Soon the two of them will have to go about their days, taking calls and picking the kids up from school. They’ll run themselves ragged as they do every day, all in service of the life that they’ve built for themselves.

For now, though, they can wait no longer. Dia draws herself closer, tracing a finger down between them until it slips inside Mari with ease. Mari whispers a quiet plea as she mewls and whimpers, desperate to feel Dia inside her at long last, and neither can abate. Dia wraps her arms around Mari’s bountiful silhouette as she lines herself up, replacing her finger with her tip as it’s rubbed against Mari’s labia and finally pressed inward.

In that moment, lips flush against Mari’s own and length ensconced in Mari’s core, Dia feels as though her body were being torn apart. Every touch is like fire, sparking and simmering against Dia’s naked skin as they melt into one. Her hips gently rock back and forth as she sets a pace, a rhythm to give structure to the melody of Mari’s cries. The two of them make love in a way that only the most familiar of partners truly can, every motion a carefully choreographed dance perfected over years, decades. They paint their love all over one another, bare their bodies, speak their love in a language of fitful, wordless passion. Their wedding bands glisten in the ambient glow of the sunlight as they thread their hands together, every single thrust of Dia’s hips winding the two of them tighter and tighter. Dia slavishly devotes herself to her wife, kissing and nibbling wherever her mouth can reach, worshipping every patch of skin like a new revelation to her lust-addled mind. When she returns to Mari’s lips, her tongue seeks passage inside, exploring Mari’s mouth eagerly.

No one knows the way that Dia worships her goddess when the two of them are alone, but Mari can never forget. Dia would never allow her.

She worships by running Mari ragged, breath heavy and skin glistening with sweat as she rocks her hips, lips chapped as they kiss over and over again. Every touch of skin draws Mari closer and closer to the throes of a blissful relief, one that she can no longer wait to reach. Dia reaches a hand between them to draw slow, steady circles around Mari’s hardened nub, coaxing her higher and higher until at last she untenses. Screams and cries of passion let loose into the crisp morning air, Dia’s name exclaimed over and over again like a mantra as Mari bathes in the orgasm sweeping her body. At the sight before her, Dia can no longer wait for the same thing; she presses inward once more, then again, until at last she paints her love inside of Mari’s womb. Every tensing of her muscles draws forth more of her seed until at last she is finally spent, left to do little more than lie with her wife as they bask in a glow of their own making.

The miasma brought on by their orgasms dissipates in fragments, small traces of their waking minds returning to them in fits and starts as Dia gingerly removes herself from Mari’s core and rolls to her side. The action prompts a quiet giggle from Mari, who only draws herself back into her wife’s embrace with a quiet murmur of _five more minutes_ , knowing perfectly well that Dia could never refuse such a temptation.

Soon, they’ll need to get up and go about their day. They’ll eat a hearty brunch, volleying gossip and conversation back and forth like a well-choreographed dance. They’ll make their phone calls, attend to their businesses. They’ll pick up their children from school, bathed in the hopes that they might soon welcome a third into their family. For now, though, they exist solely for each other.

Their love is the gentle purr of a fan, the chirp of birds outside the window, the quiet that blankets the land after a storm subsides. It’s Mari’s soft tendencies colliding with Dia’s stern symmetry, and all the passion that erupts whenever they join into one. It’s the cat scratching at the door, and the muffled laughter that they share as they begin to wash up and get dressed.

Their love is a salvation, and Dia will never ask for anything else.


End file.
